I have just finished reading Frank Warren’s “A Lifetime of Secrets.”
If you are not familiar with him, he has several books and galleries dedicated to the postcards of strangers. On these postcards are secrets, fears, hopes, regrets and desires that strangers have shared with him.
I really think everyone should read at least one of his books, or visit his website (www.postsecret.com) because you will probably be surprised that others feel the same things you do.
I will be sending my own postcard to Mr. Warren this week.
I picked out my favorites from “A Lifetime of Secrets.” Some because I feel the same, others because they just made me laugh.
My own secret is among these.
Whenever I fly, I secretly hope the plane will crash and I will die. This way, I will not have to cause my mother the pain of having committed suicide.
Until 4th grade I thought this was only a map of our side of the world and that there was another side of the world on some other map, somewhere. Now I am 21. Each year I am more disappointed this isn’t true.
I would rather suffer and die during an adventure then be happy in an ordinary life.
Someday, I want to go for a walk, and come home years later having found myself.
I was just diagnosed bi-polar. Thing is, I’d rather be crazy than just feel crazy.
Stop telling people you “build” your furniture. You buy. Then assemble. There’s no building!
I am very afraid that this is the climax of my life.
I don’t believe in Satan, but once I prayed to him and offered him my soul if he would make me pretty.
Sometimes life is really ridiculously repetitive.
I want to find someone who will still love me after I’ve shared all my secrets.
(sometimes) when I see a relaxed looking police officer, I wonder if I could sneak up and grab his gun.
I love my TV more than people.
I am not afraid of having stories I won’t be able to tell my grandchildren… I am afraid I’ll have lived too cautiously to have any stories that will interest them.
I’m going to change the world.
I am looking for a dare-to-be-GREAT situation. (I really hope I find it. I NEED to find it.)
One day, it will all make sense. It is this hope that keeps me going.
I’m terrified of becoming the Crazy Old Cat Lady. I’m 22 years old, I’ve never had a real boyfriend, and I have 3 cats. I don’t think my fears are unfounded.
I want to say a big “fuck you” to this whole graphic design thing and move to Africa where I can do something important and beautiful.
The most important thing I realized lately is that painful break ups, unrequited love, shitty jobs and the like help us to BUILD CHARACTER and that no matter how bad it feels, we are much better off because of it.
I am going to trust this January.
My biggest fear is being stuck in a life that I cannot walk away from at any given moment.
Every day I thank myself for giving myself another chance.
I’m finally on my way to becoming everything I’ve always wanted to be, especially MYSELF!
Whenever I grab a bowl from the upper shelf I think spiders are going to be inside.
Just because I try not to talk about it… does not mean I am over it, that I feel better, or that I’m ever going to be okay. I just don’t want to be a burden.
Everyone thinks I drink coffee. It’s really Grape Kool-Aid. I. HATE. COFFEE.
I wish I could be someone’s hero
I’m a GOLD DIGGER.
I’m scared I may never have REAL FAITH.
THERE IS A STRANGER LIVING IN MY LIFE… AND SHE’S ME.
I don’t contribute to my 401(k) because I know I won’t live to see retirement.
I’m trying so hard to remember that life is beautiful.
I spent all this time making up in personality what I felt I lacked in beauty.
I just want to go to bed and wake up the person I used to be.
Even though I am a liberal, when bicyclists hold up traffic, I would gladly run them down!
I long for something I can’t understand and sometimes I feel like it will never come and I get scared that this is all there is.
Out of all the students who tried out for 5th grade choir, I was the only one who did not make it. It is my first real memory of shame. It seems like it should be a small and distant memory but I still won’t sing, even in the shower.
In 4th grade, I had to claim my shoe in front of the class when the resident joker put it in the room’s lost and found box. Everybody laughed. He was killed in a car crash 33 years later. I didn’t feel a damn bit sorry for him.
I wrote my will today. Not because it was the sensible thing to do – but because I am worried about what would happen to my purse collection.
I wonder if I’ll ever be happy again… I wonder if I ever was.
I want things back the way they never were.
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